


sometimes i still feel the bruise

by tenienteross



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Follows RE2make canon though it goes into the future, Naked Cuddling, Pillow Talk, Resident Evil 2 Remake Spoilers, it's all about the scars, lots of scar kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-29 07:18:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17803514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenienteross/pseuds/tenienteross
Summary: Lowering her head slightly, she manages to place a kiss over the scar. An apology she can’t voice out loud. His fingers brush her shoulder carefully, following a path down where the bullet had pierced her flesh.Mirroring scars, she thinks as Leon caresses hers. If fate exists, it has a wicked sense of humor.





	sometimes i still feel the bruise

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again to [geniusonceayear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/geniusonceayear/pseuds/geniusonceayear) for supporting, helping and enabling all of this <3
> 
> -
> 
> This fic has been translated into Vietnamese by the wonderful [hoamixanhla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoamixanhla/pseuds/hoamixanhla), you can find it [here](https://hoamixanhla.home.blog/2019/03/18/thinh-thoang-vet-seo-lai-nhoi-dau-tenienteross-ada-ao3/). Thank you so much for putting the time and work into it! <3

There are cracks all over the mirror’s surface, each fragment separated by dark and filthy veins. It’s dirty, grime spread like it hasn’t been wiped clean in a few months. That’s probably the case, she thinks. Usually, she is more finicky about her accommodation. This time she hasn’t had the chance, and she finds herself not caring that much. After Raccoon City, nothing feels the same. 

She checks herself in the mirror, the tear and wear she has sustained these past months quite visible in the dark bags under her eyes. A new collection of scars covers her body, faint white lines sewn into her skin. But her stare is fixed on one specific mark.

Raising her hand slowly, she traces the rugged patch of flesh on her right shoulder. It’s still red and striking against her paleness. She presses her fingertip against it, sending a jolt of dull pain through her muscles. This isn’t the first time she’s done it—seeking to feel it, to sense that piercing and momentary ache. 

It reminds her of the wound. It reminds her of that night. It reminds her of him—and his little smile, and his torn face as she slips from his grasp. 

It makes her think about _what ifs_. 

She’d rather not entertain such ideas, but Ada feels her strength and self control weaker as the seconds go by in front of the mirror. 

Ada sees the woman in front of her brushing away a single tear running down her cheek, sniffling quietly as if she hasn’t produced a sound. Then her back straightens up, her whole face shifting from broken to composed.

She has a job to do.

(Her finger still lingers over the bullet wound.)

-

Tossing the towel around his neck, Leon starts rinsing his hair dry. The bathroom is moist and filled to the brim with the remaining steam from his hot shower. He cleans the condensation on the mirror with his hand, and it shows back his fresh face that has garnered a few more signs of unrest. He stills looks boyish, as everyone in his family had always liked to point out—but there is something more now. 

Maybe it’s just tiredness, maybe it’s a new kind of resolve.

Leon can only think of the nightmares he relives every night. 

His body feels stiff, even after the shower, so he checks for kinks in his neck and left shoulder. It doesn’t take long before his fingers find the scar, the remnant of a bullet hole. Leon traces its outline with his thumb. The muscle feels sore, despite the wound having healed properly. A languid pain that hasn’t really disappeared.

The corner of his mouth quirks up in a faint, mournful smile. 

When he’s feeling particularly sensitive, he wonders if that bullet hit something more than just muscle and veins and blood. As his gaze lingers on the mark, his mind summons the memory her face. 

He has her carved up on his skin, and it hurts. 

It hurts so much, in every sense of the word. 

Leon knows he should let go, move on from that night and from her memory. Hell, she lied to him from the very beginning. When given the chance, she tricked him into retrieving the virus for her. He is under no illusions about that—and still, he can’t forget her. Because despite the lies and deception, he had been right: she couldn’t shoot him. Leon dares to think he had a glimpse of the real person behind the façade, and that makes it all more complicated. Hating her would’ve been easy—but, somehow, he can’t. And now she’s dead, so he will never know what would have happened after she lowered her weapon. Leon suspects the thought will plague him forever.

He _needs_ to let her go, but a part of him still clings to Ada in a twisted way. It’s unhealthy, he’s aware of that. He has found out he doesn’t really care, for now.

Time will heal everything—except for that one burnt spot of flesh, graved in him for the rest of his life. 

(As he stares at his reflection, fingers on the wound, Leon realises he is fine with it.)

-

A ghosting smile crosses her lips, the corner of her eyes twitching up.

“Hey,” she mutters softly, grazing the line of his jaw with her fingertips. 

There is some stubble, but nothing too raspy. Somehow, Leon is always soft—or it may be her own bias speaking. He opens his eyelids slowly, still drowsy, and beams half a smirk. 

“Hey,” it’s his answer, voice slurring with sleep. 

He looks at peace right now, despite what their lives have become throughout the years. She wonders if she shares that same look, if she will ever feel that way completely. These stolen moments are the closest thing she has to normalcy—only when she stays, which doesn’t happen often. But tonight there’s no rush, so here they are. Arms and legs intertwined, their breaths warm and close to each other’s skins.

Her gaze gravitates towards his left shoulder, resting her hand over the old mark. It’s just a small spot now, but it hasn’t vanished.

“It hurts from time to time,” he mumbles, glancing down as his hand covers hers. 

She lets out a dry chuckle. “I suppose it reminds you of me, then. Seems fitting.”

“You could say that,” his smirk widens, though there is a shadow of sadness when he speaks. 

Lowering her head slightly, she manages to place a kiss over it. An apology she can’t voice out loud. His fingers brush her shoulder carefully, following a path down where the bullet had pierced her flesh. 

Mirroring scars, she thinks as Leon caresses hers. If fate exists, it has a wicked sense of humor.

“Does yours hurt?” he asks, fingers splayed over her skin.

It does, she wants to say. Because of the _what ifs_. Because it reminds her she was, _is_ a liar, and the moment she thought she could get away with it and have the semblance of a happy ending—she didn’t. Because she doesn’t deserve one. 

Not meant to be. That’s what they were. 

Yet Ada remains silent, her lips pursed in a thin smile. 

Leon doesn’t insist nor tries to fish an answer out of her. He probably knows what she is thinking—he was there, after all. He read her like an open book that night, knew her better than herself. For all she keeps him in the dark, Leon has proven time and again he has sharp wits. And he understands Ada Wong, even if he doesn’t realise it all the time.

That’s her most well-kept secret.

Her fingertips wander gingerly over his chest, tracing the cluster of all the other wounds he has acquired in the last years. Then he is suddenly burying his head in her neck, where warm lips find her own scar as he kisses it softly.

And he doesn’t stop, following the trail of marks strewn on her skin, like a path overgrown with pain. She allows him, letting herself be cared for, and sighs deeply as his mouth travels down. He finds the one on her thigh, which sparks more than a handful of memories.

His hand touches it, a remnant of the past.

“And this one?” he wonders, glancing up to her. She rises on her elbows. 

“Not so much,” she replies, and she’s being honest.

This one reminds her of his genuine displays of kindness, his selflessness. His teasing, their bantering. She treasures those memories, along with the mark they’ve left. 

(They spend the rest of night mapping them, kissing them, always finding each other in those two mirroring scars.)

**Author's Note:**

> RE2make keeps being the greatest inspiration. This idea was placed in my mind since I saw [this beautiful fanart](https://twitter.com/coyotehackles/status/1012216834366496768) by Ashley Swidowski. Now that RE2make canon establishes that they're both shot in the shoulder, at different times but still pivotal moments in their relationship, I just could not help it.


End file.
